Saturday, May 4, 2013

Executive Pink (exerpt)

The Sting

Guests are filling the place
up now. It’s funny the attraction Hollywood has for people - even
the real people that Hollywood people pretend to be. A dozen Medal of
Honor winners would hardly draw the likes of both House Speaker Edith
Glick and House Majority Leader Gus Rosenow and Sen. Jay C. Tillers
and Edna Usher and the Vice President and Sen. Bart Gladstone
and…Bart Bullshit is here? Why that sure as hell is him, and that’s
Crowell Kenyon pushing him in a wheelchair. Well, shit, will wonders
never cease. But of course. The old lecher wouldn’t miss a chance
to try and pinch Lorelei Walquer, death bed or no. I suppose I gotta
give the fat prick some credit for gumption.

My kids’d be here, too,
under normal circumstances. As it is, they don’t even know Lorelei
Walquer is in town. The President’s nanny is tending them and has
instructions to keep them away from the West Wing, no matter what.

So which TV crew is
Lorelei’s? There is quite a pile of them gathering in front of the
colonnade, but I should be able to recognize one or two of our
villains if they look anything at all like the photos I studied.
Trouble is, all the men are wearing hats, or caps or bandannas - not
because it’s sunny, which it has become, which is why I’m wearing
my faded black Leon Russell cap (visor forward), but because it’s
fashionable. I am not being condescendingly judgmental of them.
Simply stating a fact. I assume they’re the same bunch that
routinely attends White House press events and their heads are
covered, always, as they are now whatever the weather, outdoors or
in.

My watch says three o’clock.
This is it. Any minute now. My god, here comes the President. Adele
is with her. I should be with her, too. They came out of the
Colonnade Door precisely seven steps from where the dais and bank of
microphones are set up. [sustained applause] And there’s a group
right behind them. I see Lorelei. [applause continues] She’s
wearing white pants. God, I love white pants on women. Don’t know
why. Just do. Her blouse is black. Great combination. Hair is kind of
piled in back. Parted a little left of center over her forehead.
Devastating. Thank god she’s wearing shades. I’ve been worried
about the danger of looking in her eyes. Now I won’t have…

Jayzuz, something’s wrong!
Roger Ashmore is supposed to be with the decoy van, but he’s up
there with Lorelei. He looks funny. I’m, what, ten feet from the
dais and it looks like…oh, shit. Ashmore’s wearing the girdle!
Something is wrong. WARREN! GODDAMMIT, WARREN, WHAT’S HAPPENING?”

People all over the garden
are yelling FREEZE! and DON’T MOVE! Where the hell are Warren and
Rose? This is totally out of control.

“OOOF! Get off me, god
damn you!”

“It’s all right, sir,
it’s Special Agent McClean. Just stay down..”

“What the hell’s
happening, Orlo? Where’s Bob…where’s your boss?”

“I’m not permitted to
say, sir. But you know he’s supposed to be with the President. I’m
assigned to you right now, but if it looks like the President needs
help I’ll be following my secondary assignment, sir, and I’ll
have to go to her.”

“Well you damned well
better, Orlo. Protecting the President is your primary assignment.
Always has been, always will be.”

“Strategically, yes, you
are correct, sir. But this is a tactical assignment, and until I
learn differently I’m afraid you’re stuck with me.”

“Not going to argue with
you, Orlo. You have the gun. Just don’t freak when you hear me
talking to myself. I’m wired. Transmitting to a tape recorder in my
office. Historical record, you see.”

“I see, sir. You go right
ahead, sir. I won’t pay it no mind.”

“OK.” Ashmore’s face
has gone almost as white as Lorelei’s pants. A couple of men
wearing reversed baseball caps are moving from the press area toward
the dais. They’re reaching into their vests. Guns? No doubt. Orlo
McClean is raising his pistol toward the two men. He’s holding it
with both hands. I think he’s going to shoot.

“Wait, Orlo! Follow the
script!”

“Can’t do that, man.
Looks like the script’s been tossed out. [UNGH] Orlo’s
just collapsed in front of me. Someone’s grabbing my shoulder from
behind. “What…”

“Stay down, sir. We don’t
want anyone to get hurt.”

The man is wearing a black
SWAT-team suit and holding a very odd kind of gun. “WHO ARE YOU?”

“I KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS.
WHAT I WANT TO KNOW IS WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING HERE?”

“We’re trying to keep
the people with guns from hurting each other. I just used a
tranquilizer dart on the gentleman here who was pointing his pistol
at the others.”

“ARE YOU FUCKING NUTS? HOW
THE FUCK DID YOU GET IN HERE?”

“There are thirty-seven of
us here, sir. We were assigned by Ms. Schwammel.”

“Adele? ADELE! WHAT THE
FUCK IS GOING ON HERE?”

“She went back inside,
sir. If I may suggest, sir, please keep your head down. I’m afraid
some of these people might start shooting.”

“OF COURSE THEY’RE GOING
TO START SHOOTING, YOU IDIOT! THEY’RE TRYING TO PROTECT THE
PRESIDENT! WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU PROTECTING, THE FIRST CAT?”

“Calm down, sir. You’re
getting hysterical.”

“CALM DOWN, MY ASS! WHO
THE FUCK ARE YOU TO TELL ME ANYTHING? NOW YOU GET THE FUCK OUT OF
HERE. DO YOU SEE ANY GODDAM ANIMALS OUT HERE?”

“Well, yes, sir, I do.”

“WELL, WHERE, GOD DAMMIT?”

“Right here, sir. People
are animals, too, sir.”

Oh, jayzuz. Of course, he’s
right, but…now I can see Bob Rose and Hector Cyre on the ground, to
the right of the dais. There are some flag colors under them. Thank
god, that would be the President. She must be safe. I haven’t heard
any shots yet. Poor Roger Ashmore’s still standing there, white,
frozen, his middle corrugated with the dozen sticks of dynamite
wrapped around him. And there’s Lorelie, standing next to him,
looking straight at…me? ME! She’s holding something over her
head. It flashed. The sun glinted off it. It looks like a god damned
badge!

“FBI! EVERY MEMBER OF THE
SECRET SERVICE, PUT DOWN YOUR WEAPONS. I AM FBI SPECIAL AGENT LAURIE
WALQUIST. THIS IS AN FBI OPERATION. EVERYONE WHO IS NOT AN FBI AGENT
LIE DOWN ON THE GROUND AND DROP YOUR WEAPONS!”

My god. It can’t be. Is
she nuts? Bluffing? People are dropping like fainting goats in a
hailstorm, but I haven’t heard any shots. It must be those SPCA
freaks, zapping everybody with tranquilizer darts. People are
animals. Yeah he’s right, they sure as hell are. What? It’s Roger
Ashmore. He’s moving. Toward Lorelei. He’s got…”a GUN IN HIS
HAND! SOMEBODY SHOOT HIM! SHOOT HIM WITH A DART! SHOOT HIM WITH
ANYTHING. JUST SHOOT THE SON OF A BITCH!”

He’s pointing the gun at
Lorelei’s head. Why hasn’t somebody shot him? What happened to
the SPCA SWAT guys? Out of darts? Afraid of the dynamite? It must be
fake. Lorelei must have strapped it on him. It wouldn’t be real,
but how would anybody else know that? I know it. I’m going to
tackle him. The wire might break in all this. If it’s bumpy now
it’s because I’m running. Jayzuz, I can’t believe I’m doing
this.

“But you’re a god damned
United States senator. Goddammit, get off my ankle. You mean that’s
been part of your cover?”

“Oh, sorry. Well, sure. I
mean, I got into politics, and one thing led to another. I agree it
got a little bizarre.”

“A little bizarre? Jayzuz,
man, did you have to be such a god damned corporate whore, such a
fucking shill for the greediest assholes in the country? Couldn’t
you have been something less disgusting, say, a moderate?”

“Hey, it got me elected.
It got me inside.”

“It got you inside the
belly of the beast, and you like it there, don’t you.” “Loathed
every minute of it. Who do you suppose it was blew the whistle that
started Abscam, eh? I could name off some others, but I think you
should be catching my drift. If it weren’t for me…”

“Bart Bullshit, if I
didn’t know better…”

“But you didn’t. You
knew just what I wanted you to know. You bought my cover hook and
line. So did everybody else.”

OK, big shot, so what the
hell just happened here?”

“Pretty simple, really.
Ashmore’s working for Cohen.”

“Ron Cohen? The Special
Prosecutor?”

“None other. Surely you’re
not surprised? The kidnappers get her to admit she’s hooked on the
stuff, that she lied to the grand jury. They tape the confession.
Play it on TV. Cohen may not get his indictment, but at least he’s
vindicated. What more can a special prosecutor without a case want?”

“Such an elaborate setup
over a god damned petty-ass fib, over a god damned unauthorized
orgasm? What the fuck is happening to us?”

“Al, my boy, you’ve hit
upon the question of the ages. And I wish I could answer it for you.”

“It was rhetorical.”

“Huh?”

“My question. It was a
rhetorical question.”

“Uh, oh, yeah. But it’s
still a good one.”

“So what are you gonna
do?”

“Hell if I know. Now that
my cover is blown, the Bureau will probably put me out to pasture.”

“You’re still a
senator.” “Yeah, but how long do you suppose that will last, now
that the bullshit’s out of the bag, so to speak?”

“You’re a patriot. You
did your country a great service. Surely your constituents will
reward you for that.”

“Because despite my
profession I’m a politician, Al. I know what people want. They want
a big, bluff corporate whore whose staff returns their calls and
letters and holds their hands when they’re getting pissed on by the
bureaucrats. They want somebody who makes ‘em feel good, a rogue, a
rascal - their rogue, their rascal - somebody who let’s ‘em know
it’s OK to get away with things, it’s OK to cut the occasional
corner, even to be fat and greedy. They may pretend to despise him,
but they’ll vote for him so long as he’s unfailingly friendly and
brings home plenty of pork.

“They want an ugly winner,
one like they want to be, who wins by scheming and scrabbling, not by
being pious and good. They want my cover, and after all this comes
out there’s no way I could live down to it anymore.”

“Bart, there’s Lorelei
running again! And that asshole Ashmore. He got away from her. Oh,
shit, there go two of her groupies!”

“Get after ‘em, my boy.
They’re working for Ashmore now. Don’t let anything happen to
that lovely little…er, to Special Agent Walquist. I’m too old for
these chase scenes.”